


lumière, darling

by myria_chan



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Dies while imagining otp, F/M, Hammocks, Imagine your OTP, Sunsets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-10-03
Packaged: 2019-07-24 17:29:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16179818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myria_chan/pseuds/myria_chan
Summary: plance + hammock | should this be the last thing I see | I want you to know it’s enough for me | ‘cause all that you are is all that I’ll ever need





	lumière, darling

* * *

Katie finds him in the shade, a sentry of coconut trees defending him from the heat and the elements, flexing the ropes around the bark in a tight knot. His brightly colored tank top is a haphazard pile on top of what seems to be picnic basket beside his guitar, him protected only by his khaki swim shorts and a pair of navy blue sunglasses. His skin is tanner than she remembered, form leaner and longer, observing the play of muscles across his back and arms, beads of perspiration outlining shape and contour as he moves and sets up the hammock. He isn’t buffed like Shiro or Hunk, possibly even Keith, but Lance is definitely keeping up in staying in shape.

Granted, this isn’t the first time she has seen him shirtless, but this is probably the first one he isn’t flaunting which makes more room for observation.

A sharp whistle breaks her line a thought. “Liking the view?” he peers from above his sunglasses to catch her gaze.

It takes one look at that familiar teasing grin before her system hits reset and her brain calibrates into function, realizing she has been ogling.

She feels the heat crawl up from her chest to her face, and promptly thanks the heat for covering her reaction. “It’s a pretty nice view.” She ignores the slight fumble in her tone—the chortle he sends her way as he trades his shades and dons his tank top back on—and focuses on the breathtaking scenery before them.

In textbook, Varadero is considered one of the elite tourist destinations in the planet, from its white sand beaches, crystalline waters, environmental attractions and cultural heritage. In reality, life outside her hotel room is far more potent and richer, and she briefly wonders how in world ecosystems, much like its people, persevered and blossomed into magnificence under tough conditions. She is still spellbound by the underwater trip they took just beyond the coastline, greeted by at least 50 species of coral reefs and marine life she is not aware still existed, and the virgin cays that lay untouched by time and civilization—vigilant enough to imprint some of the pictures in her phone, others committed in her memory.

“You’re a pretty nice view yourself, my lady,” he says, taking her hands into his for a twirl, and edges of her long chiffon dress swaying against the Caribbean winds, almost knocking off the sunflower hat he’s hell-bent on her wearing. She is slightly surprised, and infinitely grateful, that he remembers how easily she burns under the elements.

But then again, Lance has a reputation for recalling the most random of things about her.

Clearing her throat, dry and voiceless all of a sudden, she wills her heart to stop pulsating in flutters and favors her gaze upon his newest handiwork instead. “What do we have here?”

He follows her gaze but does not let go of her hand, trapping her fingers in between his. “It’s a hammock.” She snorts at that, humoring with sarcasm he knows all too well and his laughter echoes across the open space. He pulls her closer to the source of her curiosity, beaming. “It’s not Olkarion mechanics but it does serve its purpose,” Lance starts, his defense system is activated, “I figured you needed some me time.”

Her breath hitches. “You made this for me?” she asks, eyes wide.

It’s true, she has been feeling the downside of social responsibility during her stay in Varadero, being in a tropical tourist paradise is beginning to take its toll on her psyche, but his family has been the most welcoming, spoiling her with the experience of authentic Cuban culture that she did not have the chance to think—or consider—recharging.

He shrugs, a tiny blush crawling up his tan.

“My family can be a bit much.”

“That’s an understatement,” she giggles, remembering how Lance’s mom’s face lit up when she revived their 20-year old washing machine into life; how his father’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline when she fixed said 20-year old washing machine with a hair clip; how Luis had been the most wonderful guide in the city, insisting to teach her a little Spanish to get familiar with the locals; how Marco insists on them dancing at every melody on the street; how Rachel had her hooked in aloe vera cream, sunscreen and moisturizer; how his niece and nephew excessively competing on who gets to ride with her on the Green Lion; how Veronica is supportive and encouraging that she stays sane until her flight out of the country.

It has really been one of the most enjoyable stays she has in her home planet, but the invitation for privacy is a welcome sanctuary. She settles gingerly among the green and blue nesting, dragging him with her, a chuckle bubbling as she tests gravity and tension with their weight and swing.

“I take it you like it,” he says, admiring her in a new light.

He knows her, she thinks. Or at least, he is trying to know her and succeeding admirably at that, and it leaves a satisfying weight in her chest. “Thank you,” is all she can muster, filled with so much gratitude that she feels overjoyed; holding his hand a little tighter.

His silence speaks to her than any word can ever try. Lifting her hand close to his mouth, the warmth of his breath washes over her skin as the waves washes over the shores, sending ripples down her spine before his lips settles for a kiss on the back of her hand—his eyes the softest shade of blue as they rest over her features.

“I shall leave you to your rest,” he voices, gaze never leaving hers.

Her hand tightens around his, wanting to stay longer in this quiet with him, surprise as he is in the boldness of her behavior. That is all the validation he needs, nestling deeper in the hammock, hand curving over her shoulders and she curls her body for a comfortable position, head fitting perfectly under his jaw and over his chest, their joined hands resting idly comfortable on his stomach, fingers still interlaced.

“Wake me up at sunset,” she reminds him of the promise, and falls asleep, lulled by the rhythmic motion of the waves, the gentle swaying of swing, and the sound of his heartbeat against her ear.

* * *

( _Lance is dying.)_

_(Officially.)_

_(This is paradise. This is two heartbeats beating as one, bouncing in ribcages to be for a chance to be together. This is the bits and pieces of daydreams he excessively fantasized as a child, and is pretty much sure, if he survives until sunset, he will live another fifty years obsessing over this moment. Every fiber of his body is fighting the urge to grab his guitar and sing his heart out, because the price of her contentment is far more valuable than any love declaration he can exploit, and watching her sleep peacefully is proving to be a new habit he will rather fixate on.)_

_(Sylvio and Nadia find them not more than twenty minutes later. Lance smiles fondly at the two, finger travelling to lips as Katie mumbles incoherently from slumber upon their arrival. His niece and nephew—bless their obedience—run off with the elements, giggling louder and louder as they move away from the couple. Planting his foot to the ground, he rocks the hammock into motion and briefly wonders how in the universe he will survive until sundown.)_

* * *

She feels more than hear the thrum of guitar strings, the whispers of his song vibrating beneath her cheek. She sighs and nestles further into crook of his neck. She can make out the words, if she tries, but the comfort of his music coupled with the chilly afternoon breeze is numbing her thought process.

“Katie.”

She mumbles a terse word under her breath. He laughs softly against the crown of her head. “The sun’s getting a little low. Open your eyes, please.”

Katie peeks a little, blinking a moment from the intruding sunlight, seeing the world in violet and orange for the first time, watching the highlights illuminate the softness of his face, casting a gentle glow over his features, painting his eyes indigo than azure, his hair a delicious color of chocolate. “Beautiful,” she murmurs, reminding herself the need to breath.

His smile is as tender as his voice. “You’re not really looking.”

She pouts, and he kisses her forehead in response, nudging her to the direction of the setting sun.

Orange has never been a more captivating color, the way it paints the sky in fire and life against the blanket of emptiness of the horizon, bursts of gold and saffron accentuating the lavender sky. She catches the sun in between her thumb and forefinger, meaning it to stop where it meets the ocean line so she can appreciate what it has given her just a heartbeat longer. There is wisdom as the sun descends further and further into the horizon, lulled by the tender calling of the ocean waves, light kisses the Earth one last time before it gives way to the night as the sky is silvered one by one in starlight.

She sighs dreamily, blanketed by the warmth of his embrace, and thinks she can end her days like this all the time.

* * *

 *Tenerife Sea by Ed Sheeran

* I hope you had as much as fun reading this as I had writing it, garden-friend. :D

* Inspired by imagine your otp


End file.
